


To Make Soft the Damned

by martialartist816



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, Manga Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, brief but just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816
Summary: Ciel beckons in a language only Sebastian speaks. The butler answers the call of his master to ease the shock of his nightmares.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 20
Kudos: 167





	To Make Soft the Damned

**Author's Note:**

> hello kuro fandom alive and thriving in this cursèd year 2020
> 
> this is a very stream-of-consciousness fic with no semblance of plot or meaning, i am deeply sorry

A demon in human form is only such on the most exterior level. Yes, blood runs through his veins. Yes, air fills his lungs. Yes, the soft fur of a cat’s belly or the warmth of a human’s body can tantalize the skin of his fingers. But those sensations are fabricated, carefully crafted to better keep appearances. To better fit the image of the perfect servant his master needs to fulfil his wishes.

There are certain things Sebastian cannot escape no matter how good he is at playing human. He cannot make this physical form accept the kind of food that sustains the species it’s modeled after. He cannot tamp down his heightened senses—the senses of a predator—always able to see perfectly in the dark, always able to hear a cry of pain from miles away. Always able to feel the metaphysical pull of his master, linked to him by their contract, a force as strong as the gravity that keeps the Earth revolving around the sun.

Sebastian does not need sleep, but even if he did, the calls from the little earl on the other side of the manor would be loud enough to wake him up from death. Sometimes the calls are verbal. Other times, when the earl is most vulnerable, most frightened, the call comes from deep within his subconscious, reaching out in the dark and murk that is whatever nightmare plagues him that evening to grasp at the only comfort he knows.

Like training an infant to self-soothe, Sebastian usually ignores the pleas for his presence when he knows Ciel will wake, roll over, and let himself slip back into slumber. The child has grown so used to the night terrors in such a short amount of years that, were Sebastian a true human, he would pity the earl. But his master’s ability to gather up his traumas and melt them into the bullet that loads his gun for revenge only adds to the flavor of his soul. A palpable, complex seasoning already gracing the tiny master’s soul.

But Ciel is not completely immune to all of it. Some nights, he wakes gasping, squeezing his watery eyes shut around the residual images of his nightmare. He shakes, he makes himself small in his too-large bed, and he tells Sebastian to heat up some milk and watch him until he falls back asleep. Those nights are always the same routine, and Sebastian has learned the patterns to recognize when his presence will be needed.

Tonight is one of those nights.

He goes to the master’s room with milk and honey at the ready. He forgoes bringing a candle in the off chance Ciel’s nightmare will ebb, and he needn’t wake him up with the light. Sebastian waits in the dark, eyes perfectly attentive even in the shadows, and waits for his master to gulp into wakefulness and call his name.

The earl’s breathing quickens, his restless legs swishing under the covers in an attempt to run away from what isn’t real. He sucks in a loud breath and sits upright in bed. His eyes are wide and unseeing in the dark. The seal in his eye glows, though maybe it’s only in Sebastian’s eyes that it looks so bright.

He doesn’t call immediately—verbally, at least—so Sebastian remains still. Ciel calms his breathing, fists grabbing at the duvet in his lap. His heartbeat is still loud and frantic, but he picks up his head and tries to see around the room. He focuses vaguely on the corner Sebastian occupies, not looking directly at him but more like peering into the shadow that Sebastian’s form bleeds into. He’s certain Ciel cannot see him, but he must feel something akin to the magnetism the demon feels for him in return. Extensions of each other as they’ve become.

“Sebastian,” Ciel addresses rather than calls, exhaling shakily. “Is that you?”

“It is, my lord,” Sebastian answers as airily as he would during the day.

Ciel takes another breath, though not much steadier than what he woke with.

“Is it.”

He sounds unsure, disbelieving. Perhaps he is not fully conscious, still chasing the dream away. Sebastian takes steps toward the bed, uninvited, until he’s next to the trembling human. Ciel follows the movement with his ears first, until his eyes adjust to the dark. His gaze sweeps slowly up his butler’s form, dressed in all black and blending into the background. When he finally settles on Sebastian’s face, there is almost no recognition there.

A small hand reaches out, grasps the sleeve of Sebastian’s coat at the wrist, and pulls.

Sebastian comes with the slightest tug and turns himself to perch on the edge of bed, torso angled to face his master. The grip on his sleeve remains tight. The little earl trembles still.

Sebastian awes at what could have possibly terrified him this much. What did he see in his dream that followed him into wakefulness? Did Ciel watch his brother die before his eyes again, relive the nightmare forced upon him? Or was it something new, something that hasn’t happened yet, like watching the gaping maw of a demon swallow him whole and rip from him the thing that made him human? Did he see Sebastian in all his devilishness reveal his true self? Is that why Ciel watches him now like he doesn’t know what creature he’s looking at?

After a moment of hesitation, the hand on his arm reaches up to his face, joined by the other. Ciel’s delicate fingers trace Sebastian’s cheekbones, jaw, the arch of his eyebrows. Sebastian indulges the touch, if that is what will calm his master down. This is new, a step away from the routine he’s grown accustomed to. But not unwelcome.

Last, Ciel touches his lips, feeling the seam of them with the pad of his thumb. By gentlest of pressure, he prods. Sebastian opens his mouth slightly, watching as the fear in the earl’s face slowly bleeds into concentration. Ciel pushes at his top lip with his thumb, squinting. He’s checking the size of his teeth, Sebastian realizes. They are the standard morals and incisors, nothing sharper than that. He knows, however, that Ciel has seen more sinister fangs, rows of pearl-white knives meant for tearing flesh from bone and soul from body, for mincing food well beyond recognition.

Hooking his thumb over the bottom row of Sebastian’s teeth, Ciel pries his jaw open to peer inside. He searches, maybe, for something to confirm his fears. But Sebastian cultivated this human shell perfectly. Ciel will find not a flaw on or in it. Still, the earl shoves two fingers and his thumb in Sebastian’s mouth and uses them to grope around the flat of his tongue. Sebastian cannot stop himself from brushing against those fingers and tasting. His master tastes a little of sweat and soap and entirely like a promise of something fleeting, something satisfying.

When he doesn’t object, Sebastian threads his tongue between the two fingers, and Ciel watches the movement with rapt attention. He pinches the muscle, angles his hand so he can see it better.

“Not forked,” Ciel concludes, almost to himself.

So he had seen a devil in his dream, and most likely the devil sitting in front of him. Sebastian could applaud his bravery for shoving his fingers into the last thing he will ever see. But that is so very like his master.

When Ciel retracts his fingers, Sebastian confirms with a soft voice, “Not forked.”

The earl meets his eyes again, and this time there is familiarity. For a brief moment, Sebastian thinks Ciel will shoo him away and berate him for presuming to sit on his master’s bed. But then Ciel looks back down at his mouth and traces the lower lip with his finger. It spreads saliva around, and Sebastian watches it glisten in the reflection of Ciel’s wide eyes.

He then moves to grasp both sides of Sebastian’s face, the fingers of one wet hand sliding up against his hairline. He pulls, and Sebastian floats forward to him. Ciel keeps pulling and leaning back until he’s resting softly against the pillows, with Sebastian leaning in front of him from his spot on the side of the bed. One hand presses into the mattress on the other side of Ciel’s body to prop himself up.

He stares at Sebastian for what cannot be longer than a few seconds, but feels much more stretched out to him when he counts the rabbiting of Ciel’s loud heart in his ribcage. It must be the last dregs of adrenaline from his nightmare. The little earl vies to regain control.

So he commands what he knows he has power over, calling Sebastian not with words but with the insistent pull of his still trembling hands to come the rest of the way to him. Ciel’s mouth meets Sebastian’s with a slight tilt of his chin. Sebastian remains firmly in place, anchored by his master’s weak hands, as he’s kissed by lips shaking with the same tremor of a hummingbird’s wings. The kiss is as delicate and meaningless as the way a child might kiss his mother. With his eyes open, Sebastian watches as Ciel shuts his own tightly.

He is used to the fact that his master is full of surprises. What he is not used to are the surprises themselves. How beautiful it is that the earl seeks comfort from the very being he knows is the bringer of his end.

However the simple kiss brings him comfort, Ciel returns to his usual self the moment it is over.

“Go heat up some milk,” he dismisses, averting his eyes and not looking at Sebastian again, a scowl on his face.

Sebastian stands and smooths out his uniform, smiling. “Of course, young master, a worthy butler always comes prepared.”

When he touches the outside of the pot with the backs of his knuckles, he finds it lukewarm. But Ciel doesn’t have to know that Sebastian reheats it to perfect temperature by mere will. The demon flavors the hot cup of milk with honey to his master’s liking, and serves it to him.

* * *

Ciel does not mention his action from that night, and Sebastian does not expect him to. He goes about the next day’s—the next week’s—tasks the same as always, with bored indifference and a short temper that can be soothed only by sweets.

Sebastian leans an ear—metaphorically, of course—into his master’s bedroom each night to listen for signs of stress, to determine if his hellish nightmare was a rare entity or the escalation of something darker and more permanent. He finds nothing out of the ordinary for the next few days, and he greets Ciel each morning with a plaster grin and a cart full of breakfast.

He cannot decide if Ciel regrets kissing him, if he is embarrassed by his obvious vulnerability that night. The earl acts no different around him, and there is never anything in his intense gaze other than the same regard befitting a master toward a servant. Perhaps he doesn’t remember it. Perhaps he thinks he dreamt it.

Whichever the case, Sebastian does not bring it up—though he always appreciates a chance to tease the young earl—and he certainly does not try to initiate anything else.

Unless, of course, he is given reason to believe his master wants him to.

Nearly a week goes by before another night terror catches Ciel and rattles him to his core. Sebastian recognizes the signs early in the night. Abandoning his task of balancing the estate’s expense ledgers, he gathers supplies for warm milk and brings them up to his room. Having timed it perfectly, Ciel wakes with a quiet scream not long after Sebastian enters. He watches and waits for his name to be called as Ciel cradles his head in his hands. The young master curls forward over his lap, making himself small, as he does whatever mental exercises ground him in reality.

His ragged breaths are like his gulps for air during an asthma attack, but not, because Sebastian knows those to be deeper and wetter. A stretch of a moment later, Ciel weakly lifts his head and brushes the hair away from his face with the back of his hand.

“Sebastian,” he whispers, tired.

The demon takes a single step forward.

“I’m here.”

Ciel lets out something that could be a sigh of relief of a gasp of anxiety.

“Come here.”

As Sebastian goes to his master, Ciel shifts himself so his legs dangle off the edge of the bed. His eyes are half-mast, staring at some floating space by the floor. Sebastian comes dutifully to occupy that space in front of him. Ciel’s gaze pins first to Sebastian’s shoes, and he slowly drags it up until he stops at the black tie cutting down the center of his uniform.

“My lord.”

“I said come _here_ , Sebastian.” Tilting his chin up and meeting Sebastian’s eyes, Ciel petulantly points to his mouth.

Ah, more of this. Perhaps Ciel hasn’t yet decided if he likes to kiss his butler, or perhaps it is quickly replacing milk and honey as his method to reduce stress.

“Forgive my ignorance. I would not want to draw conclusions from vague orders,” Sebastian says through a smile.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion on my orders.”

Exhaling a breath of amusement through his nose, Sebastian dips down and gently claims his master’s lips. Ciel’s hands come up to his face again. Sebastian watches his expression at first, less fear from the first night and more curious, before letting his own eyes fall shut.

He drags the kiss out for as long as Ciel will allow him. Gradually, he introduces movement with his lips, pulling back slightly only to press forward into the plush give of Ciel’s mouth again. On the bed, the little earl gives a shudder of pleasure. Tiny fingers push into Sebastian’s hair and curl there, right above his ears. Ciel starts to reciprocate the movement after the first few passes. Slowly, as to not frighten him away, Sebastian tilts his head and lets his tongue dart out. Ciel’s taste is divine as Sebastian expects. And that is only the barest surface of his lips. Sebastian could almost groan at the thought of what the inside of his mouth would taste like, or the back of his throat.

Sebastian dares to lean forward and press his weight onto one hand, dipping the mattress next to Ciel’s hip. The subtle shift rocks Ciel back, so he wraps his arms around Sebastian’s neck to keep himself upright. He keeps kissing his butler, though, in that timid, clumsy way he’s learning how to. Sebastian’s free settles on Ciel’s thigh, right where the nightshirt rides up. His hand nearly envelops the thin column of muscle, and he uses the grip to gently pry the two legs apart.

With a gasp, Ciel pulls back and releases his butler. He bats Sebastian’s hand away from him and glares piercingly at him, though it isn’t as intimidating with the pink blush high on his cheeks. He probably isn’t conscious of it.

Sebastian straightens out, and a smile graces his lips. Ciel’s taste lingers.

“My apologies for being presumptuous.”

“Damn demon,” Ciel grumbles.

* * *

For as prudishly as the young master reacted last night, he is not very good at hiding how badly he wants to feel more of Sebastian’s touch.

The next day is a long one, the stress high as Ciel receives a notice from the queen about a child labor syndicate in the city. He has to start planning the best course of action to carry out her majesty’s wishes in addition to his other tasks for the day that cannot go ignored.

So while the earl makes plans to leave the manor in the servants’ care while he and Sebastian go into the city that weekend, Sebastian draws a warm bath. He scents it with perfume, which gives the water a silky finish. Extra pampering for his lord on this extra stressful day.

Ciel sinks into the water with his eyes closed, an appreciative hum escaping his lips. Sebastian stands behind the tub and begins their routine. With latexed hands, he washes Ciel’s hair first. The shampoo, when it’s rinsed out, adds shimmering pastel bubbles to the surface of the water. They float around and cling to the edges, popping one by one like little stars expanding. After his hair, Sebastian washes Ciel’s shoulder and back with a floral-scented soap. The bathroom begins to smell like the garden in the back of the estate. He adds just slightly more pressure to relieve the tension he finds in the muscles there, pulling a pleased sound from Ciel’s throat. Sebastian’s fingers dip to Ciel’s chest, spreading the suds around. It’s usually a quick process, but Ciel’s hands come up from the water and catch Sebastian’s wrists.

Remaining in his position leaning over the earl, Sebastian watches as Ciel inspects his hands. Curiously, he scrapes his nail at the edge of one glove, catching the rim and tugging. With some effort, Ciel wrests the latex from Sebastian’s hands. The rubbery material is always difficult to handle when wet, but Sebastian makes it look easy as breathing when he removes them himself. What’s revealed underneath is the mark of their contract and blunt black nails.

Ciel studies the mark for a moment before pressing Sebastian’s hands back to his chest.

The gloves, he tosses to the tile floor, creating more work for his butler.

Sebastian can forgive it for now, distracted by the unspoken pull of Ciel’s being to his. He can feel it, like a compass endlessly pointing to true north. It’s a subconscious beckoning, similar to how Ciel calls to him when he’s in danger or in the throes of sleep. But so much stronger, so much louder, when they are in the same room, with Sebastian’s hands picking up on the fluttering of Ciel’s heart and the warming of his skin. He wonders if Ciel feels the same, and judging by the subtle re-tensing of his shoulders, he certainly feels something.

It feels good, like the stroke of flames in a fireplace. Sebastian washes the rest of Ciel’s body. His master does nothing else besides tip his head back and sigh out in bliss. His hum of pleasure sounds deep and purposeful, nothing like the absentminded delight when he bites into a particularly tasty sweet or finally pulls himself into bed after a long day. He is almost inclined to believe it’s a sound of arousal, though Sebastian has never had the pleasure of knowing what Ciel is like in such a state, so he cannot be certain.

The warm water makes his master pliant. Ciel sways sleepily on his two feet as Sebastian dries him off with a plush towel, then pads silently back into his bedroom to get dressed. Like clockwork, Sebastian follows close behind and fetches a fresh sleep shirt from Ciel’s wardrobe. The earl drops the towel from his shoulders, and it lands in a heap on the floor, curled around his thin, pale ankles. He sits naked on the edge of the bed until Sebastian kneels and drapes the shirt over him, pulling first one arm through a sleeve, then the other. Methodically, Sebastian fastens buttons at a pace that is entirely too slow for his practiced fingers. It’s all muscle memory by now, but Sebastian indulges in the sight of his hands covering up Ciel’s skin inch by inch, the room so quiet he can hear the sliding of fabric over his body. He still hasn’t put his white gloves back on.

A foot finds its way to the center of Sebastian’s thigh. The demon drags his gaze up to meet Ciel’s face, and the earl looks at him through a mask, the expression on his face remarkably blank. The only giveaway is the increased pacing of Ciel’s breath, coming quicker but only by a fraction. His eyes are big, wanting. Ciel doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. Or this is his way of asking.

Holding his gaze, Sebastian grasps the delicate ankle and lifts it to his mouth. Ciel’s eyes don’t leave his until he kisses the knob of bone on the inside of his leg, at which point his gaze flits quickly down to Sebastian’s mouth. Garnering no perceptible reaction, he continues upward, carving a slow path with his lips up the seam of Ciel’s leg. At the knee, Sebastian closes his eyes in favor of losing himself in the scent of his master. So clean on the surface. Such torment beneath it. The duality of Ciel is, for lack of a delicate phrase, mouth-watering.

He pauses mid-thigh to sink his teeth into the supple flesh. It’s a gentle action, more of an open kiss than a bite. But Ciel gasps at the sensation, and Sebastian confirms his little earl’s arousal by the heady scent that grows stronger the closer to his hips he goes. Above him, Ciel clutches at the hem of his nightshirt and tugs a corner of it down between his legs to cover himself. Such a modest gesture, but unnecessary. Sebastian can read him like an open book, as easily as he parts Ciel’s legs to make more room for himself.

He rises up on his knees, passing everything currently covered by Ciel’s clothes, and goes for his neck instead. He steadies Ciel with one hand pressed firmly against his lower back. The other hand brushes the shirt collar out of the way so Sebastian can lean in and run his lips over the artery hidden in the column of his throat. Another gasp, so close to his ear this time, as Ciel leans his head to the side to give him more room. His knees squeeze at Sebastian’s sides anxiously. The earl’s arm is trapped between their bodies, rigid.

Sebastian would love nothing more than to leave a mark on Ciel’s perfect skin, but he refrains from sucking on his neck for now. He just spent so much time relaxing his little lord’s muscles in the bath; he needn’t go and make the skin angry so quickly.

“You were thinking about biting me just now, weren’t you?” Ciel asks, though it hardly sounds like a question.

Sebastian pauses, closes his eyes, and exhales through a smile.

“Perceptive as always, my lord.”

“You must think it’s so fun.” Ciel leans back, out of Sebastian’s hold. His voice is low and irritated, and he glares at his butler.

“My lord?” Sebastian repeats. If he expected an adverse reaction to his touch, he’d think it would have been embarrassment rather than anger.

True to form, his master is so full of surprises.

“Even children are taught not to play with their food,” Ciel bites. “I won’t have my butler taking liberties before his job is done.”

The sureness in his tone is almost totally unwavering, save for the small inkling of insecurity laced in the back. Sebastian sees through it and rises to his feet, placing a hand over his chest.

“I believe you misunderstand my intentions,” he states with a grin. “This is not an act of _play_.”

“I misunderstand nothing,” Ciel digs in. “How else am I to believe you view humans? You were going for my neck just now. You wanted a taste.”

His rage, Sebastian thinks, is adorable as it is uninformed. Now, not only does his master not know how to ask for what he wants, but he also doesn’t quite grasp what exactly it is he wants. So far, all he has come to learn is the tender touch of another person. A person he trusts with his entire soul, no less. And the weight of that trust only doubles under the pressure of Ciel’s willing and imminent end. Ciel must understand there is a connection between that trust and the pleasure that comes from Sebastian’s lips, what little taste he’s had of it already. He’s curious, he wants more, but he fears Sebastian is after something else.

We can’t leave it at that, now can we?

“A taste, perhaps,” Sebastian hums. “But I do believe the context of the situation dictates a less _literal_ meaning of the word.”

“And what context is that?” Ciel asks defiantly. He can act as brave as he wants, but his body speaks the truth in the high blush he wears. The little lord was never that good at hiding how easily he flushes.

Sebastian maintains a cool expression and answers as he would the meal he’s prepared for the young master.

“In an intimate context, a taste can be something emotional. Some humans might describe it as primal. A base need to touch and be touched. Though the mouth is used frequently, it has nothing to do with actual consumption.”

“Ugh, I know that, Sebastian.” Ciel visibly recoils at his butler’s choice of words, unaware Sebastian can be much more vulgar in his phrasing if he wanted.

Sebastian continues, amusement leaking into his voice.

“It’s alright if you don’t, my lord. No one has taught you such things. If you do wish to learn, I would be happy to provide—”

“Absolutely not.” Ciel closes his eyes against the thought of it, shaking his head. He clambers over to his favorite pillow and resolutely shoves his legs under the covers, a physical barrier between himself and the demon he doesn’t know he’s aching for. “Get out.”

“As you wish.” Sebastian bows to conceal his smile.

When he turns to go, Ciel adds, “And don’t come back unless I call for you.”

“Of course,” Sebastian answers over his shoulder.

“ _Verbally_.”

* * *

And call he does, though not for some nights after the fact.

It was all accumulating to this, Sebastian supposes. It was only a matter of time before Ciel’s body started catching up with his mind. And now that Sebastian has introduced him to the sensation of intimacy, as superficial as it was, the earl can begin to learn what exactly he wants to ask for.

Whether he wants to make Sebastian aware of his process or not, his dreams ultimately make the decision for him. Sebastian senses it before it begins. A new scent floats through the manor shortly after Ciel goes to sleep. It’s heady, curious, and wrought with need, beckoning Sebastian to its source like a moth to a flame.

Halfway up the stairs, Sebastian hears it. Desperate panting pillows around his name, broken out and punctuated with moans between syllables. Ciel calls for him with such clear passion that Sebastian almost thinks the young master might be awake. But silently slipping into the bedroom, he confirms that is not the case.

The duvet kicked down and away from his overheated body, Ciel lays writhing on his stomach and panting moisture into the sheets. One hand clutches onto the pillow as his hips jerk into the mattress below. He paints himself a delectable picture.

“Sebastian…” Ciel’s voice ticks up at the end, blending into a moan.

The demon comes when summoned. Sebastian approaches the bed, feasts his eyes on the desperate sight spread out before him, and speaks.

“I’m here, my lord.”

The panting slows gradually. Ever the light sleeper, the timbre of Sebastian’s voice is enough to rouse him—how his own wailing failed to wake him, Sebastian hasn’t the slightest idea. Ciel turns his face away from the mattress and opens eyes wet with tears.

“Sebastian…” he says again, slightly more conscious than before.

His pupils are blown wide when he looks up at Sebastian, half-lidded as if they’re too heavy for him. Ciel twists in the sheets until he’s on his back, and his hair falls away from his face. Between his trembling legs, a wet spot spreads across the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Shall I teach you some of that taste we were talking about before?” Sebastian asks.

“Shut up.” When Ciel moves his hand down to cover himself, he instead moans again from the brush of his fingers through the shirt.

“Is that an order?”

“No. Come here.”

“Is that?” But Sebastian is already leaning down.

“Yes. Do something about this.”

Ciel reaches for Sebastian as the demon descends. Small arms wind around his neck, and as Sebastian meets him with a kiss, he brings a hand to the apex of Ciel’s thighs. The little earl gasps into the kiss, allowing Sebastian’s tongue to slip into his mouth. He rubs his gloved hand over the bulge hardly covered by the shirt. Ciel seems to not know what to focus on, the tongue in his mouth or the hand on his erection. He decides on the latter, lifting his hips into the touch while letting his jaw hang open, giving Sebastian ample room to explore.

A low rattling escapes Sebastian’s chest. If he lacked his impeccable self-control, he’d reach down into the throat offered for him and stroke his tongue along the soul that taunts him so. The taste of Ciel is already perfect. The promise he gives is maddening.

But Sebastian restrains the urge and instead gently coaxes Ciel into using his tongue in a similar fashion. His gasping makes it difficult to kiss, but Sebastian drinks down his breath like the purest of water. Below, Sebastian lifts the edge of Ciel’s nightshirt and touches him in earnest, fingers wrapping around the shaft of his little arousal and sliding up and down. Fingers grasp at Sebastian’s uniform. Knowingly or not, Ciel’s legs spread apart, and yes, that would be the body asking for what the mind does not know it wants yet again.

Sebastian parts from the kiss to undo the buttons down the front of Ciel’s shirt one-handed. Ciel lets him go, arms falling back down the bed on either side of his shoulders. When his chest is exposed, Sebastian nudges the lapels aside and trails his lips over the sweating skin. Shivering, Ciel is powerless to do anything other than arch his back off the mattress.

Sebastian laps at the pretty pink cock when he gets to it, careful to keep his touches light and teasing. Ciel might not last long with how he’d gotten an early start in the sheets before Sebastian arrived. Removing his hand, Sebastian wraps his lips around the tip, cleans the fluids rolling down the shaft.

“A-Ah, Seb...a…!” The earl cuts himself off with a cry, one hand digging into Sebastian’s hair.

Here, the taste is divine as well. Sebastian believes there would be no place on his master that wouldn’t burst with ripeness against his tongue. He dips down to take all of Ciel in his mouth, but just once. On the slow, slow draw back up, he discreetly removes his gloves and pockets them to save them from getting filthy. When he releases Ciel’s length to flip back up against his stomach, Ciel gives a twitch of pleasure.

Sebastian climbs fully on the bed and kneels between his master’s legs. They meet eyes for a moment, Ciel’s face stained with red and all defiance gone from his expression. Instead, he lay there open and panting at the mercy of his butler’s touch, eager to understand why he craves it so.

For a moment, Sebastian offers a smile before holding Ciel’s hips and turning him over. The nightshirt slips down his shoulders, but the sleeves get trapped at the crook of his elbows. Back in the same position he was when Sebastian found him, Ciel shifts anxiously at being exposed like this.

Skin to skin, Sebastian palms up the backs of Ciel’s thighs until he comes to the swell of his rear. When he thumbs the flesh apart, Ciel gives a wanton whimper, legs shifting. Sebastian holds him down with the barest of effort and dips low to drag his tongue over the last part of his master that remains untouched.

Ciel jumps at the sensation of a tongue on his entrance, but his moan is telling. Sebastian laps at him languidly, unhurriedly, cataloguing the taste again and again.

“Sebastian!” Ciel gasps, the surprise and arousal at odds. In his effort to squirm away, he grinds into the mattress and unleashes a completely different—yet all the same—chorus of sounds.

He knocks an unsteady rhythm out, but Sebastian cannot have that. He pulls away and uses his grip on Ciel’s sides to haul his hips up. The next time Ciel tries to hump down, he meets nothing but air.

“Please,” Ciel begs, aware there is an end he’s searching for. Sebastian, however, won’t let the end come to him so quickly.

He gives a final, long lick before lifting his head. “Yes, my lord?”

Resting on his chest and shoulders, his backside held up by Sebastian, Ciel turns to look at him with hooded eyes.

“Remove your uniform.”

Sebastian bows his head.

“With haste.”

He takes care to pull out a labeless brown vial from his pocket before following the order. Placing the bottle to the side, Sebastian undresses and folds each piece as it comes off. Ciel’s eyes are on him the entire time, and he doesn’t conceal his obvious staring. While he makes no comment on what he sees, the deepening flush in his cheeks speaks volumes.

Kneeling behind his master again, Sebastian takes up his bottle and pours a small amount of its contents into his palm. It warms in his skin, and he spreads it over the wet area of Ciel’s entrance. The earl pulls in another breath, less taken by surprise this time. Sebatian’s fingers prod at the hole, and when it’s properly lubricated, one slips inside. Ciel’s resulting noise sounds completely unintentional, but the desperation in it goes right to Sebastian’s aching length regardless. With his free hand holding Ciel’s hip, Sebastian eases the finger in and out, in and out, until he can press a second one alongside it without resistance. Between his legs, Ciel drips onto the sheet. He might come untouched if Sebastian isn’t careful.

And that is the image that inspires Sebastian to remove his fingers. The little earl is pliant and willing enough, granting Sebastian the freedom to use the rest of the oil on his cock. Ciel seems to know this is what they are building toward. He shifts his knees apart just a little more, gulping down a breath and then holding it in anticipation. Sebastian is kind to him, anchoring his hips as he sinks inside.

The tightness and heat he finds within are both breathtaking. Sebastian cannot hold back the growl that escapes him, dampened by the drawn out moan from Ciel below him. The stretch is just shy of too much, a delicious balance of pleasurable pain. Ciel shakes with it, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Sebastian…” Ciel calls weakly, throat dry.

The demon slides back and pushes forward again, breathing out ecstasy.

“My young master,” he purrs.

“It feels so good,” Ciel states in the most words he’s said all night. “Make it feel better.”

Reaching out, Ciel curls his fingers into the sheets, holding tight as if letting go means losing his mind. Sebastian watches the flex of his hand and leans forward, draping his body over Ciel’s to push deeper with just the thrust of his hips. He covers Ciel’s hand with his own, the tiny fist eclipsed by the palm bearing their contract.

Falling into rhythm, Sebastian pushes himself into his master over and over again. At last, he indulges his previous urge to mark Ciel and bites into his neck. Holding on through the trusts, Sebastian basks in the cries of lust so close to his ear and sucks a bruise into the perfect skin. He promised to never harm his master. This kind of injury cannot qualify as such if asked for, begged for, by name. Sebastian feels that pull again, under his faux-human skin, all the way down to the core of his being. The invisible string that links him to Ciel is only strengthened by their physical connection. Ciel’s pleasure is his own, as is his fear, his desire, his very soul. Wrung out to the last drop, Sebastian answers the call that’s been echoing in his ribcage since the night he met Ciel.

With a last plea for the end, Ciel tightens around Sebastian and soils the bed below him. The young master rocks feebly on his knees, meeting Sebastian’s final thrusts before he, too, spills over the edge. Laving his tongue over the bite mark he left, Sebastian moans in Ciel’s ear and releases into the welcoming give of his body.

The little earl collapses as soon as Sebastian pulls out, gulping for breath. His heart hammers against his chest, eyes drooping even as the spent energy trickles out of his body.

Sebastian is not nearly as affected, at least physically. He speaks with all the composure his position dictates.

“You’ll get dirty laying in your own mess like that.”

“Shut up,” Ciel sneers, venomless. “I could make you clean it up with your mouth if I so desired. How is that for consumption?”

He means it as a joke, but Sebastian will not stand for the filth. Not when he goes to such lengths to thoroughly bathe his master every night. With a quick motion, Sebastian flips Ciel over onto his back and eyes the splotches of liquid coating the skin of his stomach from where he fell into it.

“Sebastia—”

His tongue drags over the mess, collecting it and swallowing it down. Sebastian hums in content at being able to taste even this part of his master.

Ciel pushes at his head, tugs his hair, but doesn’t tell him to stop.

“You vile creature!”

“No, sir. I am simply one—”

“Ugh!”

Suppressing a laugh, Sebastian grasps behind Ciel’s knees and folds them upward to expose his backside. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight of his essence slip from his master before leaning in. Ciel relinquishes a groan as Sebastian sucks him clean. A bath will still be in order to ensure complete comfort, as well as a change of sheets, but he can get the bulk of the work out of the way right now. Sebastian hums around his own tongue as he licks at Ciel, drinking down the last of it until nothing is left but his own saliva and the pinkness of his master’s stretched hole.

Ciel whimpers through it, but he is too spent to request anything more. Sebastian feels the fatigue rolling off of him, as well as an ease of mood. Sebastian gingerly lowers Ciel’s legs and rises to face him. Ciel accepts the kiss given to him, the last of his grumbling dying down against Sebastian’s lips.

“Sleep well, my lord.”

And he does. Sebastian is grateful that Ciel slips easily back into slumber because, for once, Sebastian has forgotten to bring him milk and honey.


End file.
